


the devil's got a hold of you, boy

by Steamcraft



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Demon Stiles Stilinski, Demonic Possession, Explicit Language, Gen, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Other, Post-Season/Series 02 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-09
Updated: 2013-10-09
Packaged: 2017-12-28 22:04:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/997463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steamcraft/pseuds/Steamcraft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Don’t you fucking leave me to take care of Scott, Stiles. Don’t you fucking dare.”</p><p>“It burns, Derek,” he says softly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the devil's got a hold of you, boy

Derek watches Deaton pour a rock salt circle around Stiles, intricate symbols and lines which confuses him in their meanings. Stiles is unconscious throughout the work and has been roped in a chair by his legs and entire torso, head hanging against his chest.

 

Its not really Stiles, Derek has to remind himself.

 

Scott and the rest of his Betas were told to leave the treatment room, too antsy, too many questions. Too dangerous. Jackson is lucky he can mend bones so quickly. Erica is glad she heals cleanly, nothing leaves a scar.

 

Deaton steps back, examines the circle and its lines, before looking at Derek. “I’m going to wake him now, but first I need to remind you that he will manipulate you, taunt you. You are not to step over the first ring. You are not to attack him for answers. Don’t make any deals, don’t give any leverage he can use against you, and, above all else, that is not Stiles.”

 

“And after I find out where the Sheriff and Scott’s mother are? What happens then?”

 

Deaton hesitates a second before answering. “Well, I would try to expel the demon. Derek, its uncommon for the host to leave unscathed from a possession. There’s a very large chance that Stiles is already dead.”

 

That blows Derek over. He steps back, blinks rapidly, and finds it hard to get the air back in his lungs. He reaches for a chair, balances himself until his hands turn white. Deaton lays a hand on him.

 

“You don’t need to do the questioning, Derek,” he says gently. “Your pack is out there scared for their friend, of their friend. I can get what you need if the demon is compliant enough so you may console them.”

 

Derek takes a deep breath and steels himself like he’s done over a thousand times. “No. I’ll do it.”

 

He can, if Stiles is alive somewhere in his body or not. Stiles would have hated this, getting them in this problem and drawing attention. As Alpha, Derek takes it his responsibility to help right the wrongs his pack’s done, regardless if Stiles knew he was pack; Deaton had the means to help thus far, but no more should be needed.

 

Deaton retracts his hand to stand at the edge of the salt seal and begins speaking in tongues. The air fills with static that Derek had associated with the act of magic at work, as Stiles - not Stiles - starts to squirm in his chair, waking.

 

“Oh quit it with the Latin,” Stiles grouses before opening his eyes. “I was enjoying my nap,” he says, as if he hadn’t been knocked unconscious by three two-hundred-something werewolf lacrosse players. Honey brown eyes fall between his captors, glances down to the ropes and seals.

 

“Well damn, we’ve got a witch on our hands.”

 

Derek steps forward as Deaton falls back to let him. “Where are the Sheriff and the woman you took tonight?” he demands. Stiles stares at him and grins, leaning back and getting comfortable.

 

He doesn’t say anything.

 

“How did you come across Stiles?” Deaton asks when Derek steadily becomes frustrated with the silence.

 

Stiles rolls his head in a sickening motion to look at the doctor in the corner. The grin spreads his mouth wide, toothy. “Missin’ any books lately, Doc?” He laughs at the wide-eyed expression. “This little bitch, how unexpected. Like, wow! You should have been there, he had the whole blood and bone get-up, too. And, you know, the sacrifices weren’t half bad on the tummy, either.” He flicks his tongue across his lips.

 

“Sacrifices?” Derek repeats, not sure if he wants to know.

 

“Two werewolves that came out completely left field, I tell ya! Some wannabe Alphas that this bitch was crying help for,” he explained. “I told him if he let me in, I could take them. I could make them disappear. And the fucking fool sealed the deal; smacked him on the lips and pushed him back seat, and ripped those fucking dogs apart with my teeth.”

 

His chomps his jaws in mock demonstration.

 

A cold chill shot through Derek and he feels sick. Two Alphas from the infiltrating pack destroyed - cannibalised - by this single demon in the body of a teenager. How in the hell is a simple line of salt keeping the creature immobilized? Another thought: did Not Stiles allow himself to be taken down by Derek’s Betas? He must have; the pack of Alphas aren’t stupid, this must be a trap.

 

“Where did you take the two people tonight?” Deaton asks, bringing Derek back into the interrogation.

 

Stiles lurches forward, jerking the chair on its front two legs before he falls back on all fours. “What’s my name,” he yells. “Tell me baby, what’s my name! Tell me sweetie--”

 

Derek’s growl cuts through, the burning question tumbling out, “Is Stiles alive?”

 

“Derek--”

 

“Oooooo! Who, who!” He stops, stares hard at Derek, his manic smile gone. “This bitch. All the things he wants. He wants you. He wants you to throw him down and fuck him. Fuck him _raw_ , and hard enough to make him scream. Oh, how this bitch _moans_ for it, and to mark him, possess him. I bet, mmmmmm, I bet I could give him that and so much more. After I ride this little bitch to hell and back, I’ll give you a sweet kiss and take him with your body, and oh, baby, how I’ll hear him scream when--”

 

“Derek!”

 

Derek steps back, unaware he shifted until he smells the blood he drew from Stiles’ cheek on his claws. Stiles’ head is whiplashed to the side, and he slowly rotates his head to face him. His eyes are pitch black.

 

“Bad dog,” he says with a long frown. “Yeah, this bitch is still around, but I don’t know for how much longer.”

 

“What do you mean?” Derek snarls.

 

Stiles’ lips curl in imitation of Derek. “I _mean_ , there are several factors to keeping him alive!” Then he grins with all his teeth again. “Did you know he can _quit_ anytime he wants to give up? Or I can, ya know, _snuff him out_. But, ha, I could probably get you to kill him yourself.” The blood rolls down his cheek, and his tongue flicks out to lick it in his meaning.

 

“Enough damage on this bitch’s body and he’s a goner, but I can run a corpse without blood so no big deal.” Stiles turns excited, “Hey, let’s run him _dry_ , puppy.”

 

Stepping back and sitting down in the other chair, Derek feels sick from his actions, guilt roiling in his stomach. The copper smell of blood on his hand floats around him, and he notices Deaton watching him carefully. Stiles’ is watching him carefully, too, with narrowed and thoughtful eyes.

 

“He’s awake inside here, and he’s yelling for you already,” he says slowly. “He says _stop being a pussywolf and kill this sonuvabitch_. Here, let me put the bitch on speaker. You have five minutes.”

 

Derek watches the black fade from Stiles’ eyes, hears his heart begin to race as he pants. Stiles smells of fear and desperation while the demon controlling him was calm and confident, a tinge of sulfuric. He stands again, coming to the edge of the circle, puts a hand on his face to take away the pain that he caused.

 

“Stiles, you _idiot_ \--”

 

“Derek, please listen to me dude, okay? I’m the world’s largest fuckin’ idiot, I know - _Jesus, I know_ \- but in the book - its by the Preserve, I know you’ll smell it out - in the book is a reversal spell, a decantation for possession--”

 

Derek puts his hands on his shoulders. “Will it hurt you?” he asks, his voice strident.

 

“That’s not impor--”

 

“So help me god, _will it kill you?_ ”

 

Stiles looks away. “It might, yes, alright? But the fucking demon will die, and that’s _all you should worry about!_ ”

 

Deaton comes close. “Stiles, do you know where your father and Scott’s mother are?” he asks urgently.

 

“They’re in Scott’s basement,” he says with relief, and thinking about the Sheriff calms his heartbeat. “They weren’t hurt badly - nothing I’ve seen my dad not brush off. Dad had his phone dialing emergency, they’ll be okay.”

 

Derek looks hard at Stiles. “Your father won’t be okay if you die.” Stiles’ eyes clench close at the pain of leaving his father, tears leaking from the corners. “You said it might, right? You might be able to hold on, _right_?”

 

Stiles nods quietly.

 

“Don’t you fucking leave me to take care of Scott, Stiles. Don’t you fucking dare.”

 

“It burns, Derek,” he says softly. “The demon burns me on the inside, and its not like drowning at all. With drowning all you have to do is open your mouth, but I open my mouth to release the pressure and it just scorches all the way down. And right now he tells me he’ll set everyone on fire, so just do it, who gives a fuck about me- I’m the one who caused this fuckin’ mess in the first place--”

 

“Shut the fuck up,” Derek growls, his fingers tightening on Stiles’ shoulders. Someone else he feels responsible for is on fire, and it tears at Derek. “Don’t give up on us. We’re going to get that demon out of you, then the pack and I are going to beat your sorry ass so don’t rob us of that, _pussywolf_.”

 

That rewards him with a rueful grin. “Fair enough,” Stiles croaks. 

 

“Promise me!” He shakes his shoulders roughly, needs to hear him say it.

 

“I promise, I promise I won’t--” He stops abruptly.

 

Derek pulls away when he smells the change.

 

“That was actually his dying wish, did you know?” The demon laughs. “He’s on the verge of killing himself right now, and you don’t even realise, can’t even see! This little bitch is on his way to Hell, and he’ll be passed around like the little cockslut he is.”

 

Deaton puts a hand on Derek’s chest when he jerks, keeps him at bay. “He promised you, Derek. Calm down, believe in Stiles, okay? Go take care of your pack right now, find that book, let Scott see his mom, and I’ll try an exorcism.”

 

“ _Kill me and I’ll kill the bitch_!” Stiles screeches.

 

Derek roars at him, and the demon has the decency to look both impressed and concerned. He retracts his claws and turns around, feeling unsettled with the idea of the veterinarian exorcising while there was the chance that _Stiles would die_. “Do you need Isaac’s help?” he asks Deaton.

 

“Not Isaac, but if you can have Jackson pick up Lydia I could use her help. Have anyone else go home if you don’t need them; its going to be a longer night.”

 

“Lydia?”

 

Deaton smiles. “She’s like Stiles, a hidden power inside. I’m going to use her as an anchor for Stiles. Go.”

 

Derek leaves the treatment room without a second glance and walks into a pile of Betas in the waiting room, holding a wolfed-out Scott down. “Let me go already!!”

 

“Listen up,” Derek commands, and all four of his Betas give him their attention despite Scott’s thrashing. “Stiles is hanging on for the mean time. He was able to let us know how to help him. Scott, I want you to go home--”

 

“Like hell I will!” Scott struggles.

 

“Your mom is probably on the way to the hospital, Scott,” Derek says, and Scott stills at that. “Stiles said she was in the basement but the Sheriff was in the middle of calling the police. Go make sure they’re okay. Don’t come back here unless I call you or I’ll have Deaton ash the door.”

 

The Betas push Scott into the floor as they use him to stand, but after doing so Isaac helps him up. Derek would have smirked on another day.

 

When Scott leaves, he tells Erica and Boyd to go home. “There’s nothing left you can do to help right now. If you need to, go to my place and Jackson and Isaac will meet you soon.”

 

Erica levels him with a look before she takes Boyd by the arm. “Take care of Batman.” She’s satisfied with Derek’s nods, and Derek waits until they’ve left before addressing the two Betas waiting for orders.

 

“Jackson, Deaton needs Lydia. Go get her.”

 

“It’s three in the morning,” Jackson says, incredulous. “Her mom--”

 

Derek growls, eyes flashing red. “Just do it! We don’t have a lot of time!” Jackson swallows with wide eyes, then tentatively nods. He pulls out his phone and calls Lydia. Derek sighs under his breath and looks at Isaac and is, for a second, taken back by the determination he sees on his face.

 

“We’re going to the Preserve. We need to find the book Stiles used.” Isaac nods, glancing to Jackson who was arguing with Beacon Hills’ Alpha Human. Derek can hear Lydia’s screeching when Jackson pulls the phone away from his ear, but she is agreeing to help. Not that Derek would really give her a choice under the circumstances.

 

Derek walks out of the vet with Isaac and Jackson on his heels; Jackson slides into his Porsche as Isaac and Derek are already speeding out of the parking lot.

 

“How bad was it?” Isaac asks.

 

He almost doesn’t want to answer. "Frightening."

**Author's Note:**

> that's all, folks
> 
> I'm sometimes on [tumblr](http://iblameitonmyadhd.tumblr.com)!


End file.
